Trust Amellal, Zurich Headquarters The command centre is flooded with blue light and sleep deprivation. Tarmo stands above three monitors—one cycling through riverbank thermal images, another frozen on a grainy satellite view of the Carpathians, a third pulsing with encrypted alerts from half a dozen agencies. His broad, pale face—so often unreadable—now bears twin crescents…
Tag: Romance
The Chronicles of a Memory Cartographer: Transylvania
While Karim secures our exit and radios Mikael, Sandi, and I move through the manor—door by door, hope burning with each threshold crossed. Whether Tarmo waits in chains or cowering in decades-old terror, I won’t abandon this borderland until we’ve carved our own ending into history. I slam through the study door, lungs burning, sweat…
The Chronicles of a Memory Cartographer: Lake Tarnita
Outside, the first bells ring through the valley, signalling not only another day, but also the pressing weight of what lies ahead. After breakfast, I slip on my jacket and gather the day’s documents:CYcrds identification, clearly visiblefresh grant letters bearing European emblemsa thick folder filled with signed permissions from museums, schools, and council offices—thanks, naturally,…
The Chronicle of a Memory Cartographer: Odoreu
I let Karim’s hand settle in mine, guiding him into the sparse hush of my room. The shadows shift as we draw the curtains, leaving only a sliver of moonlight across the bed—enough to see how hunger and doubt flicker in his eyes. We don’t speak. The space between us is already thick with memories:…
The Chronicle of a Memory Cartographer: Romania
Stories and Suspicion at Europe’s Edge The journey carries us into Ružomberok. Hills close in—dark and wild, as if the old stories about mountain spirits and forest witches linger here longer than in other places. The streams are rowdy, climbing over their own stones, reminding me of tales where rivers could be both guide and…
The Chronicles of a Memory Cartographer: Oravská Polhora
As we cross the border and descend into Oravská Polhora, it feels like rolling into a hush that belongs to another century. The mountains behind us fade into blue layers, their silence trailing into the valley. Here, the land flattens into gentle, green pastures, edged with those distinctive low, flat back stones—some pressed into fence-lines,…
The Chronicles of a Memory Cartographer: Babia Góra
“Where the Strawberries grow under Fir” The van rattles along the narrow pass beneath Babia Góra. My notebook trembles on my knees as the forest smears into stone ridges, sky low and restless overhead. My thoughts spill out before I can tame them. “Elusive men like Tarmo don’t stumble into trouble,” I murmur, more to…
The Chronicles of a Memory Cartographer: Bielsko-Biala
“Between Vodka, Weed, Heat and Warning” It’s only after we’ve ditched the snarled avenues of Katowice—streets shivered with suspicion, every window a blind witness—that I let myself breathe. My reflections haze behind the car window: haunted tenement facades collapsing into their own shadows, the twilight river clutching secrets, and that peculiar, slanted lake like a…
The C.O.M.C. Files 